To never be forgotten
by Theivius Authorius
Summary: Sly and the gang are after something grander than coins this heist... One-shot for Memorial Day. Rated to be safe.


_The night took its hold on the capitol, with the crisp embrace of a small breeze. The trees bobbed with the wind, sending a small sound of shaking leaves around it. Besides it, the city was quiet. The moon was suspended silently, silhouetted behind the towering white Obelisk, a sign of how far an ancient culture's reach could be; The Washington Monument. The silence was odd, for the usually bustling city at this time of the year; it was summertime after all. Of course, most were in their homes or out-and-about, preparing for festivities and ceremonies. But even then, it was almost too quiet... like the city was preparing for something. Something special. For in very few days, there would be a special occurence. It would be for the day never forgotten, made for those we will never forget..._

_Memorial Day._

_But this story doesn't start in the United States capitol, no... tonight, our story begins _outside _the boundaries of D.C. In a small, seemingly empty warehouse... Of course, seemingly is the operative word._

* * *

"How much have you estimated this... thing... is worth, George?" said Lincoln to his comrade. The crane looked, trying to be optimistic, at the small stone pedestal set in front of them.

"I can not tell a lie, Abraham," said Washington sarcastically, "This one piece holds our entire future, and infinitely more." He let out a small laugh, muffled by the mask the wore. The lion's mane had made it a burden to wear, but it kept his identity secret, so he endured its unconformability.

"I don't care how much it's worth, wooden teeth, just get it in the crates like the rest of it. We're already late, anyway." Roosevelt was the most impatient of their trio. Being also the huskier of the group, he was the one forced to load, and lug, every heavy masterpiece they stole. This, in turn, made him the most irritable as well.

Like you might have already gathered, these three men of varying age and size are not true presidents. Known to the rest of the world as the 'Founding Thieves', a group started by the man known as George Washington, being their elder and leader. Even brother to brother (though not being related or part of a Lodge, Masonic or otherwise) they knew nearly nothing about each other; only pulling heists together brought them together.

"Theodore is right," the elder said, "We must prepare for our leave." He sighed. "I will miss this corner of the world... but not as much as I'll like my own island in the Bahamas. Load it up and lock it up, Roosevelt!" He said with a twirl of his fingers in the air, walking back to his room further within the building. The lanky Abraham Lincoln followed him. He groaned, but Theo willingly heaved the stone up onto his shoulders. Being only a foot tall, it wouldn't look like much of a chore to lift. But the dense mineral it was crafted from made it more cumbersome to carry, making it at least 20 pounds. Not sonething difficult, just something hard to be used to.

Theodore stomped through the dimly lit warehouse, filled with many different crates and boxes filled with a veritable gold mine's worth of treasure each; much of it was stolen from the archives of various museums around the Louvre, The Smithsonian, the Chicago Natural History Museum, no establishment seemed safe.

As he thudded, a dark blur bounced past the various levels of boxes above Theodore. Zooming, speeding, bounding above box after box, pouncing like a leopard above the unsuspecting polar bear below. Or, should I say, more like a raccoon?

Another blur, only slightly brighter in the shadows, bounded just as his adversary. And just as silently, a rocketing figure came behind the second blur, keeping in time with the runner beside him and the one opposite. His arms pumped at the wheels of his chair, compounded with the silent rockets in the back of his wheelchair. It had earned him the title of 'Fastest Turtle alive.'

One final blur came up behind the first, just as Roosevelt was nearing the landing-place of the Thieves' final score. Much more rotund, it was an amazing thing to see him keeping up with his cohorts so easily, not wheezing or gasping for breath in the slightest. From the hippo's feverent training in the Aboriginal Outback of Australia, he could be tackled by a bullet train and could still traverse a three kilometer run in the mountains of Prague.

The hippo and turtle nodded to each other, slowing down slightly, and letting the two faster blurs trek on while Bentley hopped down to the ground floor. He melded in with the rest of the boxes, awaiting in the shadows to have a seemingly perfect vantage point. Murray stayed above everything, as it was essential for their attack. The two raccoons sped on, both leaping into the air to switch routes, a maneuver they executed perfectly. The blur originally on the left, the lighter one, was cocky and performed a somersault in mid-air. The darker blur rolled his eyes.

When the polar bear turned to a crate, and set down the pedestal, the two raccoons stopped. The turtle flipped a switch on hsi wheelchair, emitting a contained EMP wave, knocking out the lamps hung from the ceiling on their half of the warehouse. Theo glanced to the flicker of lights. "Stupid faulty wiring..." He muttered, jangling the keys in his paw to find the one for this crate. This was their chance. The blue-garbed raccoon nodded at his green clothed counterpart, returning the gesture. 'This is my favorite part of the job,' thought Sly Cooper.

Sly leapt down from his boxed perch, making a soft thud on the concrete floor. The bear's head jerked up, and he twisted around slowly to see the ring-tailed thief, cane in hand, staring confidently at him.

"...Who the hell..." The keys dropped as the bear, rather stupidly, started to walk towards the raccoon. He realized his mistake too late, though, when he heard yet another soft thud behind him. Gregory had his arms crossed, cane in his right hand. "Rule number one, pal..." Gregory said as Sly started to walk up to him, pulling out his cane from behind his back.

Suddenly, Theodore became enraged. He kenw he was up for a fight. He charged as Sly pulled out the crooked stick, shouting angrily in his tackle. Sly's arm fell, he had a dissapointed look on his face. 'They never learn...'

The bear wasn't three feet from Sly when the crate fell. Sly actually flinched slightly before it crashed over Theodore's skull. Splinters flew all around them. Gregory had a light grin on his face. "...never let your guard down."

"A little close there, wasn't it buddy?" said Sly as he turned to look at his rotund friend. The hippo stammered defensively, "He kept moving! You try and hit a moving target with a 50 pound crate."

Sly put up his arms with a smile, "Not trying to be difficult, just saying. Nice shot!"

Murray's facial expression turned back to one of satisfaction.

Bentley wheeled up to the other three in his team. "Was he much trouble?"

Sly was surprised the turtle hadn't noticed the failed attempt, or the bear under the rubble of the storage crate. he motioned to it, and Bentley sighed with understanding. "That easy, huh?"

Then there was a slam of a door. And they vanished, like ghosts in the night.

* * *

_The thud was easy for the crane and lion to hear. "What was that?" shouted the cat, just awakened from one of his power-naps in the barracks. His voice was no longer muffled, as he took off the mask when he slept._

_Lincoln shrugged a wing, and flung a pretzel into his beak. "Theo must have dropped a box."_

_Washington stared unbelievingly at the bird. "Dropped a _box? _Dropped a 5 million dollar bill, that's more like it! If that moron damaged anything, I swear, I'll claw out his innards." He said, his retractable claws sprang out. Grabbing his pistol from the table, he slammed the door, and started to pounce into their stash of artifacts. His slitted eyes danced from side to side, seeing nothing out of the ordinary... untill he looked out 20 yards to the north._

_"...Oh, God." _

_He pumped his arms to reach his fallen cohort. Kneeling down, he put his fingers beside his neck to search for a pulse; he sighed with relief when he found one. It wasn't out of care for his safety, so much as it was that he didn't want to dispose of a body. Or evade the Police for Grand Theft _and _Murder. _

_He turned his head to each direction, seeing nothing. His brow furrowed. "Alright!" He shouted as he rose up. "Whoever you are, you've just made a _very _big mistake. You cowards are lucky you didn't... didn't..." His voice faltered when he saw something. Or rather, the lack of something. The Pedestal... was gone._

_His arms dropped to his sides, mouth wide open. George hadn't been shocked many times; in fact, this was the first time. It was a feeling he didn't like. Not one bit. His voice exploded into a roar of pure rage, coming deep from within him. "You... YOU... I WILL FIND YOU, YOU MISERABLE LITTLE-" _

"Freeze!"

_The second time, it didn't feel any better. A squadron of at least fifteen men, armed with assault rifles, emerged from the shadows in one fell swoop. Around three crashed through the crates, he didn't even want to know how that could have happened. He saw the small laser pointers, making red dots on his frame. He still held the gun in his hands, aimed for the ceiling. _

_A young woman, a fox, stepped out from the mass of soldiers, and his shoulders slumped. He saw the badge on her trench coat jacket; Interpol. Her blue eyes held a steely glare, and a confident smirk was on her face as she flicked a palm forward, and her troops advanced. "Little history lesson, 'Washington': First president was shot four times. Survived somehow, all the bullets went through his jacket. And, unless I need glasses, you don't have a jacket. So, I'd drop the gun... now." _

_His mouth fell. About to scream again, about to explode again, he... he exhaled. Die, or live in prison... as much as he regretted it, he chose the latter. Arms held up, the gun fell, clattering to the floor. _

_"...Good thing you listened in history." Another finger motion brought an agent to cuff the lion, and five of the troops moved on to escort him to their prison vehicle. Five others went further into the warehouse, to apprehend the 16th president._

_Carmelita's Lieutenant walked up to her, a smirk on his face. "'Good thing you listened in history'? How cheesey are you?" _

_"Shut up, Gronk," she said with a chuckle._

_"You need to find that Cooper; he gives you better jokes and One-liners." _

_"Yeah, yeah... yeah..." She said, originally jokingly, then morphing into thoughtfully as the Ape walked to the entrance of the warehouse. He shook his head, with a smile on his face. He may not seem like the brightest bulb in the box, but he was no simpleton. And he understood Morale enough to know who gave the 'annonymous tip' that led them here, in search of the Soldier's Memorial Pedestal. He hapily turned a blind eye when he saw the pedestal gone. He knew where he'd find it, the next morining. _

_"Alright!" He shouted over the voces of the agents. "Who's going to document all this stolen contraband?" _

_Immediate silence. _

_Gronk rolled his eyes. Another weekend vacation down the drain. But then, his eyes widened, and he smiled. "Oh, _Winthrop!"

* * *

He sighed, sitting down onto the granite benches of the memorial. He glanced over some of the names... no they were more than names. More than just letters put into order. They were friends. They were his brothers. They were his sisters. Family. Fallen in combat, lost for fighting about something higher than them, higher than all of us. Peace.

He stared, remeniscent of the past. Maybe if he had done something different, if he had followed that burst of his instincts to run... maybe he could have warned them? But what if he had? Would they have survived? Or would his name have joined the scrawls upon the stones set in cement? For long, long moments of many days, he thought of that. Today he thought of it most of all. He had a tradition of coming on the Friday of Memorial Day weekend, giving him the peace and quiet he needed to thing. _Ut numquam oblivione delebitur, _he called it; _To Never Be Forgotten. _Something that all on the list deserved.

The basset hound propped his head with his right arm, when he looked at the open cavity set in the floor of the stone. There had been a story covering its theft some days ago, saying that a trip of ski-masked men had pried it loose from its moorings. "How can people have the audacity..." He muttered to himself.

The sound of feet came to his ears, which perked up. He turned over his right shoulder, and his eyes widened. It was a raccoon, wearing a black mask over his eyes. He wore a dark coat, and he could see a bulge in his left pocket.

He pulled out his wallet, and flung it to the ground. "Please! Just take it!" Sadly, being old and frail, he knew the protocal between mugger and muggee. He started to back away on the bench, fearing for his life.

"Wait!" the raccoon said, pulling out his hands from his pockets. The old man looked confused, as he should have been. Then he did something the no person would expect from a stick-up artist; he picked up the wallet, and placed it beside the man's seat.

The man was speechless. Words tried to find their way out, but they were caught in his throat. The raccoon gave a wink. Then he gripped the opject in his pocket again, which made the hound nervous. "Don't worry, sir." he thing he produced almost gave him a heart attack, from the extreme joy and shock; the pedestal. The golden-plaqued granite pedestal, emblemed with the symbol known to all; the carrying of the american flag, proping it up firmly into the ground. A symbol of perseverence.*

The raccoon stepped back. Looking at the shocked elder, he had a sad, but hopeful, smile. He turned to the stone, closing his eyes peacefully... "_Spirit, that made those heroes dare t__o die, and leave their children __free..." _

The quote hung in the air for some seconds. Then the man silently smiled. "_Bid Time and Nature gently spare the flag we raise to them and thee._ Ralph Waldo Emerson, with my own little addition."

Sly Cooper grinned slightly. After a salute to the man, which he returned with great appreciation, the raccoon walked off into the night. The breeze made every one of his senses feel alive, refreshed. He would admit, the feeling of going outright to call INterpol about the Thieves was an odd feeling... but it was worth it all, the awkwardness and planning, to bring back respect to them. To those... who should never be forgotten.

**This became much more deep (and quick) than planned, and a bit more of a story that tugs at the heartstrings, but I still like it. Also, I appologize for the mistakes in this, it was a little rished. I certainly hope you enjoyed it! Happy Memorial Day to all. And to those lost, to those who fought for others, wherever, whenever... we salute you.**

*_Thievius Note:: Actually, the picture of the flag raising was pure chance. Lieutenant Colonel Chandler W. Johnson, a commander of a battalion, demanded that a larger flag should be raised; one big enough to be seen on the other end of the island they were stationed at (on Mount Suribachi). And a photographer was lucky enough to catch the photo, just as the larger flag was being brought up._


End file.
